


In Agony

by bethgreenesgf



Series: ASOIAF Rarepair Week [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Invasion of Privacy, Letters, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15068291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethgreenesgf/pseuds/bethgreenesgf
Summary: Catelyn scanned further down the letter, smiling a little at the words the besotted young lord had written to her daughter. His writing was every bit as flowery as she had expected from a son of House Tyrell.I confess, I close my eyes at dusk to sleep, but all I can do is think of you in striking grey, blue roses in your hair, fire in your eyes, every inch the Northern lady.





	In Agony

Catelyn turned the scroll in her hand as she paced, fingers tracing the golden rose which sealed it. In truth, the letter bore no name or identifying marks beyond the wax and Catelyn reasoned with herself that she had no way to know the intended recipient, but in her heart of hearts she knew better.

In the years since Ned had refused to be Robert’s Hand and betroth Sansa to his son Prince Joffrey, relations between Winterfell and the crown had become strained. The king’s frequent letters ground to a halt after the royal family’s return to the capitol without the Starks in tow. Then suddenly, some months ago, Robert had arrived in Winterfell in the dead of night, bearing gifts for Ned and Catelyn and an invitation to the tourney to be held in Highgarden to celebrate the Prince’s betrothal to Margaery Tyrell. Catelyn marveled at the fickle favor of kings.

The girls had ridden South with Ned, Sansa atwitter with anticipation to see the pageantry and Arya sullen at the prospect of missing her bastard half-brother’s visit from the Wall in order to attend the tourney. The journey from Winterfell to Highgarden took them five days and the celebrations lasted more than two weeks, the longest Sansa and Arya had ever been away from home. They made quicker time on the way back, Ned told her, unburdened by the lackadaisical pace of the royal escort Robert had sent for them. Upon their return, Sansa had stars in her eyes as she spoke of the gallant knights and their mighty steads. In hushed tones that evening, Sansa had told her of the rose she received from the young knight, Ser Loras Tyrell.

“What if he wishes to marry me, mother?” Sansa had smiled, hands undoing the Southron hairstyle Lady Margaery had taught her. “Surely father would not object, I am eight and ten now and Loras is good and kind and brave, not at all like Joffrey.” Catelyn had hushed her and gone to work brushing out her hair, as Sansa retreated to her silent days dreams. _Sansa Tyrell._

_This letter holds the key Sansa’s dream, it is not your matter to meddle in, mother or not._

She took a deep breath and broke the seal, scroll unfurling of its own volition.

_Dearest Arya,_

Her hands tightened around the edges of the parchment, leaving little indentations from her fingers. _Arya._ She came back to herself after a moment and panicked, smoothing out the divots as best she could to hide the evidence of her prying.

_I am most delighted my letter found you well, and must admit my spirit soared to receive a reply in such short measure. As I write this, your letter arrived three hours ago, though I do not know how soon this missive will arrive as I am told the winds are quite rough at this time and might wreak havoc on my raven’s journey. The agony of waiting is unparalleled. How I yearn to have you here again, with me, and in my arms, to talk for hours as we are wont to do when left to ourselves._

She felt the burn of shame in her chest at having read as much as she had, but still could not find it in herself to stop. Catelyn simply could not imagine an illicit romance blossoming between her wild Arya and the Knight of Flowers, who was by all accounts a man rather prone to displays of flamboyance. Though, she reasoned, a third son was better suited to Arya than Sansa. Neither of the girls were likely to ever inherit, unless they lived to be very old indeed and Loras Tyrell’s ascension was just as improbable. Highgarden was more like to fall to the crown than Loras once Lady Margaery was queen. Sansa was born to be a great lady and could never be satisfied as a guest in her husband’s family home, dreaming of the day Robert vested him with some dead traitor’s castle. Arya, though…Catelyn had long ago resigned herself to Arya marrying well below her station, or not at all. A keepless knight of a rich and noble house was more than Catelyn had managed to dream of for Arya since she had flowered.

_Highgarden is lonely now, in a way it has never felt to me before. While you were here, the sound of your laughter filled the gardens and it seems your absence has left the roses most bereft._

_Sansa will be wroth._ Catelyn thought, stroking a thumb absentmindedly over the embroidery at her collar. _She thought Loras Tyrell so handsome, and for him to be betrothed to her little sister…_

Catelyn scanned further down the letter, smiling a little at the words the besotted young lord had written to her daughter. His writing was every bit as flowery as she had expected from a son of House Tyrell.

_I confess, I close my eyes at dusk to sleep, but all I can do is think of you in striking grey, blue roses in your hair, fire in your eyes, every inch the Northern lady. Every inch Arya._

_Arya Tyrell._ She mouthed the name as few times, testing the feel of it on her tongue. _We must find Sansa a match before they are wed, but I cannot object to the union. Neither will Ned once I tell him of Loras’ and Arya’s sweet correspondence._ Catelyn read on, joyous tears pricking at the corners of her Tully blue eyes and then, they froze and widened as they landed on the signature at the foot of the letter.

_With Greatest Love,_

_Willas_

_Willas Tyrell. Not the third-born son, but the heir, not a boy a few years Arya’s elder but a man grown. Arya would be Lady of Highgarden, second in riches only to House Lannister. She would be the wife of a cripple_ , she cringed. _What does that matter if she loves him? If he loves her?_ Catelyn let the scroll curl back into itself in her hand and pulled off the wax seal carefully, holding it over the flame of her candle. Golden wax dripped down the edges of her white candle and she withdrew the seal, pressing it firmly to the tightly twisted parchment.

 _Let her be happy_ , Catelyn prayed.

She wondered how best to pair green and grey for a wedding gown.

**Author's Note:**

> For ASOIAF Rarepairs "[Rarepair Week](https://asoiafrarepairs.tumblr.com/post/173749507007/asoiafrarepairs-weve-all-seen-fandom-events)", Day Three — Love Letters.


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